


Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

by ashamedbliss



Category: Grand Theft Auto V, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Assassination, BAMF Morgana, Drabble, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Psychopaths In Love, Teasers & Trailers, Weapons, morgana's a bitch, the sky is blue etc, trevor is a pyscho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:51:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4977835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashamedbliss/pseuds/ashamedbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor and Morgana lie in wait to ambush some of The Lost MC, trying to work out exactly how they ended up here.</p>
<p>Merlin/GTA V fusion, more details in the notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first attempt at a GTA V fic, and it's a teaser for my NaNoWriMo story I'll be writing in November, which features Trevor/Morgana (trevgana lol), plus a whole host of other Merlin and GTA V characters. That's why this is more of a snapshot, with not much explanation for a couple of things. This is just to test the waters and see if anyone else thinks Trevor/Morgana is a likely coupling - Morgana is an ice cold bitch in this one, compared to some of the other AU versions of her I see.
> 
> This is a GTA V/Merlin fusion - basically I've plucked the Merlin cast and plopped them in Los Santos. You don't need to have played the game to read it, at least not this little drabble. 
> 
> No spoilers for Merlin, no spoilers for GTA V either. Title from Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood by Santa Esmeralda.

“It’s too fucking hot in this piece of shit desert.”

Morgana squinted her eyes to look out across the endless sand and rock, despite the aviators currently covering her face. She felt like she was melting in her skinny jeans and baggy top (from Ponsonbys, of course, she wasn’t a Suburban kind of girl), especially laying on the bare sand with the heat radiating up through her bones. Funnily enough, packing for the weather hadn’t been top of her list as she’d left Los Santos in her Adder sports car at over 100 miles per hour.

“Well, you could always just, y’know, take your clothes off.”

Morgana turned to stare at her companion, and future business partner, a certain Mr Philips. “Fuck off, Trevor,” she said in her light Irish accent, and the bastard in question had the cheek to grin.

“I’d rather fuck _you_ , but maybe another time. Lost MC, eleven o’clock,” Trevor said quietly, lowering the binoculars from his eyes. He was an older man, nearly twice Morgana’s age, with a whole host of psychological problems that Morgana didn’t spend too long thinking about. He could happily gun down sixty people in about as many seconds, with absolutely no remorse. The guy was a fucking maniac, but something about that, and his rarely seen softer side, had made Morgana stick around in the desert after escaping her brother and the city he ran.

Morgana rolled her eyes at the innuendo. “Remind me why I help you again?” she teased, a small smirk on her lips as she looked down the scope of her favourite sniper rifle, fully customised.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Trevor said, shifting at her side to load a grenade launcher with grenades. “Well, firstly, you pity me.”

“Not true,” Morgana said too quickly.

“Oh, _yeah_ , you do,” Trevor drawled in his ‘faint’ Canadian accent, and Morgana could tell he was working his way into a dramatic monologue once more. She nearly rolled her eyes again. “Poor Trevor, _all_ alone in the desert, with nothing but some weird freaks for friends and a _shitload_ of crystal meth to drown himself in.”

Morgana finally rolled her eyes again. “I don’t fucking pity you, you piece of shit. Next guess?”

Trevor grinned. “Language, sweet cheeks, you don’t want Uncle T here having to put you over his knee and spank you because you’ve been naughty, do you?” Morgana ignored his tease, continuing to watch the targets down her scope. A few bikers were congregating around a barn in the distance. “Alright then, if you don’t pity me it’s because you want my money.”

Morgana actually laughed. “Excuse me? You’re talking to a Pendragon here. Money is practically my middle fucking name.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing when you hate your last name,” Trevor said more quietly, and Morgana stayed silent, the words ringing true. “Fine then. If it’s not for the money, or out of pity, it’s because you love me. L-O-V-E love me, like the kind of love that’ll give you a wide-on, kinda love.”

Morgana stopped looking down her scope to look up at the older man, who was staring at her with an indescribable expression. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Trevor. You live in a filthy trailer, fuck half a dozen girls a week, you’re either constantly drunk and or high, you’re a fucking _psychopath_ \--”

Trevor yanked Morgana’s ponytail hard, causing her to yelp as he pulled her head away from the scope, the sniper rifle clattering to the ground below her. “Get the _fuck_ off me,” Morgana seethed, rolling in the dust to grab at Trevor’s broad shoulders and push him away from her, but he held her to the floor, face close to hers.

“God, I _fucking_ love you,” Trevor said as if he was furious, as if anger was the only kind of passion he could express, spittle landing on Morgana’s face. He loomed above Morgana, pinning her to the rock beneath her with his weight over her hips. “You just say it like it fucking is, don’t you? No fucking empathy for my feelings, oh no.”

Morgana’s lips twitched into a smile, despite her scalp aching and her knuckles bleeding from being scraped in the scuffle. “Cold bitch to your hot head. I think we’re pretty well matched, don’t you?”

Trevor looked at Morgana for a moment, trying to process all of the emotion he felt, emotions he forever struggled to convert into words or actions. He nodded eventually, climbing off her to pick up the grenade launcher. “Yeah, alright, maybe we are,” he said. “Now pick up your gun. Let’s shoot some bikers, then you can insult me more. _God_ it turns me on.”

Morgana sighed, still smiling as she rolled onto her front again, picking up her sniper rifle. Trevor was a fucking maniac, but he belonged to her and her alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know you enjoyed it, because as far as I know this is the first time this pairing has ever been written!


End file.
